In Paris, an apartment drained of color
allows a solitary tulip, its leaves
white-washed to still the tragic.

On canvas, a thick mustard space
traps the energy of one white rose.
Blossom frozen, centripetal concentration
suspends nature's inevitable black magic.

The landscape painter shaves his beard,
slicks back hair with brilliantine,
barricades himself in a tower
of monolithic perfection

away from the horrors of growth in green
away from trees in twisted torment.

Brush-strokes of branches stretch
into lines of vertical vitality